


however you might feel tonight is real

by girljustdied



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-08 03:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/pseuds/girljustdied
Summary: what you once were isn't what you want to be any more.





	however you might feel tonight is real

**Author's Note:**

> prompts were "hurt," "layers," "longing," "name," "quit."

Karen’s a high school dropout. There isn’t a single item of clothing in her closet that doesn’t have a hole or tear in it. She works at a greasy diner where the managers only seem to respond to blowjobs, and she lives in a studio apartment where the bathtub’s in the kitchen.

It could be worse, she tells herself. At least now she’s alone. Just her and the stretch marks on her belly and Lip’s favorite t-shirt and Shelia’s voicemails.

She doesn’t go by Karen anymore. Nametag on her work apron reads “Samantha,” but she’s just as fine with “waitress” or “bitch” or “hey you.”

Just not “Daddyz Girl.”

He finds her eventually, though. Lip. She meets his eyes through the front window of Lynette’s Diner, and they’re just as sharp and hard and blue as she remembers. Nothing new to see there, so she looks away and goes back to work, her mind mostly on how much her lower back aches. Mostly.

Doesn’t see him again for weeks. Not until he’s suddenly in her section, menu under his folded hands.

“Hi, I’m Samantha and I’ll be your waitress tonight,” her faux introduction makes his eyes widen for a split second before he settles back into his chair again, all James Dean cool. “What can I get you?”

“Just some coffee.” And then, mocking, “Samantha.”

He doesn’t get it; she shouldn’t be surprised, but really, she is.

“When do you get off work?” he asks her.

Says “never,” because it’s true. Her skin’s got an oily tinge to it now that she can’t scrub off. All her clothes smell like sour milk.

“You look like an after school special.”

“Still love me?” she spits out meanly, breaking character, voice twisting the words into something else entirely.

“Still a fucking heartless bitch?” he answers, and leaves.

She is not the hero of the story, but she’s sure as shit not the damsel in distress, either.

Sometimes, when Lip used to get a little too high and definitely too sentimental, he’d look at her with this soft gaze that made her feel like the supporting character in her own life. Made her angry, maybe. Made her spine loosen and the sex more passionate, too, but after she’d sit with her knees curled up against her chest and watch him come down, throat tight with words that she couldn’t speak. He was her best friend.

She never wanted to feel like that again.

It takes two cigarettes to get home on foot, icy air finding its way in to bury deep down in her bones despite all the layers.

Footsteps trailing behind her turn into Lip’s voice, “Karen, wait up.”

Hands shaking, she opens the door to her building and practically sprints for the stairs.

He manages to get through before the front door clangs shut. Calls up at her, voice hoarse, “Karen! Karen!”

She wants to tell him that he reminds her of every bad thing she’s ever done. Every cruel thought, every careless word—and every one she’d chosen with vicious precision. Reminds her of a baby that wasn’t even his, and what it felt like when dear old dead Daddy called her a whore, and of going to the park with her mom when she was a kid. You know, before Shelia locked them both up in that hellhole of a house and threw away the key.

She wants to ask Lip if this is what he’s doing with his life. He’d promised, he’d fucking promised that he didn’t love her, and Gallaghers pay their debts, don’t they?

Leans over the banister and voices the only thing she can, “Are you coming up or what?”

Her apartment’s freezing, so she keeps her coat and boots and scarf on. Is just starting to take off her mittens to more easily heat up some water in the microwave for coffee, but hesitates at the sight of Lip standing in her doorway.

“Wow, quite the palace you got here.”

She keeps the mittens on. “Shut the door and lock it behind you if you’re going to come in.”

He does, and then moves to sit at the edge of the fairly large , free-standing tub, brooding stare taking in every detail of her new home as he lights a cigarette. She wonders if he’s imagining himself there, too. His jeans crumpled on the floor with hers, his books in a pile by the bed acting as a de facto nightstand, baby makes three and all that shit. Hands itchy to clean up the place under all that scrutiny, she sits on the end of her twin size bed instead. Wraps a quilt around her shoulders.

“I could probably fix your radiator,” he says.

“It’s not broken.” A deep breath, and, “My landlord just doesn’t turn it on. Practically ever.”

“I could probably fix your landlord.”

She’s laughing before even deciding to let herself do it.

“You know, your mom’s really worried about you, Karen.”

Jaw tight, “Yeah, well, she made her choice.”

“Yeah. So did you.” He wets his fingers to stop his cigarette from burning without wasting it by grinding it out and shoves the nub into his jacket pocket. Shrugs, “So did I. Pretty fucked up, huh?” After a short silence, he speaks up again, “You think it would’ve made a difference?”

“What?” She picks at a crusty stain on her quilt with mitten-covered fingers.

“If I’d stopped fucking all those other girls,” his voice is incredibly matter of fact, but every line of his body is vulnerable. “If I’d told you, you know, that you were it. For me. The one. That you were only girl I’d ever loved.”

Past tense. Just almost past tense.

“I would have thought that you were pathetic,” she answers, and means it. She'd already done it. “And I would have used you for everything you had—before I totally fucked you over.”

“Good thing I didn’t, then, huh?” he strides forward to stand in front of her, then kneels until they’re eye to eye, his mouth twisting into a crooked grin. “Escaped unscathed and everything.”

“So why are you here?” she suddenly wants to hit him.

“Karen—”

She punches him hard in the shoulder, “Don’t fucking call me that—why are you _here_?” Another blow, and, “Why don’t you just _go_?”

He catches her next punch with a hand around her wrist, half on her mitten and half digging painfully into her skin, “Quit it.”

She strikes him with her left hand instead, “Why don’t you just _leave_?”

But then he’s got her other wrist and he just crushes his mouth against hers instead of answering the question. The blanket falls off her shoulders as she tries to contort herself out of his hold.

“I hate you,” she bites into his kiss.

Pulls and pulls and pulls until she’s free and he’s only clutching her mittens in his useless fists—but then she grabs his head with both hands and lunges forward to kiss him again. He tumbles backwards heavily onto the floor with her on top of him, their bodies adjusting together easily, like no time at all had passed.

Except for this: “Stop—stop, not like that. Okay?” Lip holds her up off of his body by her biceps, his breaths coming out in strained wheezes. “Okay?”

Eyes stinging and cheeks hot with embarrassment, Karen gets back on her feet and stomps over to the kitchen area to finally make that coffee. Stares at the numbers ticking down on the microwave until they aren’t blurry anymore, and stays still as a statue at the sound of Lip moving to stand behind her. He reaches over her shoulders, grips the collar of her jacket, and pulls it off. Steps away again.

“This work?” he knocks on the thick ceramic of the tub.

Not turning to face him, she nods.

The microwave dings; the water in the tub starts running.

“C’mere,” he says.

Stupid—she is so fucking stupid. She doesn’t know what else she can do to make him stop looking at her like that sooner rather than later when it’d hurt more. If it could hurt more.

There’s nothing left to do.

When she moves resolutely to stand toe to toe with him, he kneels to unlace her boots. Pulls each one off, and then her socks after that. Lip stands, and then it’s her scarf winding tight around her neck as he tugs it off. By the time she’s down to just the pair of thick tights she’d worn underneath her jeans, she’s trembling in a way that really has almost nothing to do with her icebox of an apartment.

Teeth chattering too much to let her speak coherently, she digs her hands inside of Lip’s open coat and around his waist, trying to get as much of her body covered by the thick fabric as possible while the tub fills slowly. Lip cups the back of her head with one palm, fingers stroking her hair, the other hand between her shoulder blades.

Crying a little, she whispers into his shoulder, “I wish I hadn’t had that kid.”

His hands tighten and twitch against her before relaxing again. “So that’s where it went wrong, huh?”

“No. _I’m_ wrong.”

He shakes his head as he lets her go.

“Yeah, maybe,” he lies, face an open book as he strips down to nothing and gets into the tub with a just one sharp hiss at the surprising heat of the water on his skin.

She wipes at her face until she's not crying anymore.

“What do you see when you look at me?” her fingers smoothing the band of her tights over her stomach.

“Are you coming in or not?” he dodges the question with an echo of her own woods.

“Answer me.”

“I see my friend—I see my best fucking friend, okay?”

He doesn’t ask what she sees when she looks at him. Which is good. If he’d asked that, she probably wouldn’t have been able to peel off her last layer of clothing. Or sink into a straddle over him, knees digging into the bottom of the tub and scalding hot water sloshing up over her hips.

“I’m on the pill,” she mutters while reaching far back behind her to turn off the tap. She means it this time. Would’ve gotten her tubes tied, but it cost too much money all at once.

His silence at that is almost oppressive as he cranes up and forward to kiss her before she has a chance to shift back into a comfortable position on his lap again, his fingertips twisted in the damp edges of her hair. Their mouths separate with a wet snap, both barely able to catch their breaths. She cups some warm water in her hands and lifts them to soak his hair. Runs her fingers through the short curls. They’d never taken a bath together before. Sex in a tire swing, fucking while out of their minds on whatever drugs they could get their hands on, sure. But not this.

Maybe, she thinks fleetingly, maybe if they don’t fuck, everything would be okay.

He kisses the heel of her left palm, the tattoo on her wrist, the inner curve of her elbow, her bicep. Strays to mouth her right nipple, and sucks with just an edge of teeth like he knows she likes until she’s arching into his touch and grinding her lower body against his hardening dick. With a loud exhale against her collarbone as he moves to drag his mouth up to her throat, Lip’s hands skid down the slope of her back and over the curve of her ass to encourage her.

Everything is slow, and warm, and jagged.

Maybe—no, she can’t think—maybe—

She guides his dick up the line of her cunt until she can thrust down around it, then slings both arms tight around his neck and plasters her chest to his as she pistons slowly up and down around him. Slick with water, their bodies slide easily against each other, but it’s somehow far more frantic than slow and sensual. Something about how tightly they’re both clutching at one another, as if they’re on a tiny life raft in the middle of stormy seas, holding on for dear life. Or about how their breaths keep coming out in delayed, ragged, too short exhales. Or the water splashing up and spilling over the edge of the tub.

It’s over quickly, him coming inside of her before she can get off.

It’s okay, she tells herself. It’s okay, it's better that way.

“I love you,” the words barely a whisper, but from her mouth it feels like a shout. She’s shaking again. The water is cooled and just barely rippling around them now as they continue to cling to each other desperately.

“I’m sorry things got so fucked up,” he murmurs, voice raw and vulnerable. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” She had been a fucking asshole.

They dry each other off with her ratty towels and curl up together naked under the pile of blankets on her bed. It’s the warmest she’s ever felt in this apartment. Maybe anywhere. Maybe ever.

She really does. Love him.

So when he’s still passed out when she wakes, the lines of his face peaceful and soft, Karen does her best to dress as quietly as possible so that she doesn’t wake him. She warms up a thermos of coffee, careful to pop open the microwave door just before the last second to keep it from beeping.

Then she packs a bag, steals the cash from Lip’s wallet, and hops on the first bus out of town.


End file.
